Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/126



When the Lamp is shatter'd, The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scatter'd,   The Rainbow's glory is shed. When the Lute is broken, Sweet sounds are remember'd not; When the words are spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour Survive not the Lamp and Lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the Spirit is mute.

dwelt in proud Venetian halls, 'Midst forms that breathed from the pictured walls; But a glow of beauty like her own, There had no dream of the painter thrown.